


silver and gold

by donutcats



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: 3 + 1, M/M, it somehow slipped away from the trope, mistaken as a couple trope, tho only the first bit fits into the trope, warning for at least one shitty pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutcats/pseuds/donutcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trouble always comes in threes</p>
            </blockquote>





	silver and gold

**Author's Note:**

> this started off as 'mistaken as a couple trope' and just, grew, somehow, into a vague 3 + 1 type of thing
> 
> I feel like I should mention, that because I have yet processed my thoughts over 1.08, that this is either canon divergent where 1.08 hasn't happened, or they all trust each other again and things are happy.

**(1)**

The marketplace is crowded, colorful carts and stalls lining the bazaar, multiple different conversations mingling together, creating a clamour of voices and items exchanging hands.

One and Two are walking around, enjoying the lull in their otherwise chaotic lives, taking the time to browse through the handmade items.

The others are off doing their own things, they all seemed to split up once they stepped foot off the Marauder. Five looped an arm around Six, laughing at how they waddled away because of the drastic height difference. Four said something about business, Three said something about food, and they headed out in the same direction.

One wants to think him and Two are in a good place, have gotten over the hump of awkward flirting, settling into, whatever it is they are now. He likes the word _‘friends’_ , it has a nice ring to it, makes him feel like they’re more than just crewmates, but not asking anything more from her.

Actually, the only person out of the crew One honestly thinks doesn’t fit into his Friends column, is Three. Things with Two have become easier, things with Six and Five are easy, hell even things with Four can be easy.  
  
Three though? Look up the word Easy in a thesaurus, and under antonyms, the first word would be Three.

Three actually terrorized One only a few minutes earlier, and One only had a second to wonder where Four was, before Three started talking, all barbed wire tongue, knowing just how to dig under One’s skin. Then he was flicking the shell of One's ear as a goodbye, veering off towards a stall with food, almost as quickly as he had dropped in.

Two didn’t say anything during the whole exchange, just arched an eyebrow when Three’s voice cut through their conversation, hands reaching towards a strip of fabric as she let them snap at each other.

Now, they're looking over some handmade jewelry, because when Three left, Two tugged at his sleeve, motioning to a small cart only a few feet away.

An older lady greets them, One assumes it's the owner of the cart. She watches them for a few minutes, smiles when Two gently touches a colorful bracelet.

"I think Five would really like this," she picks it up, fingers tracing over the glass beads.

One glances at it, "it's as colorful as her," and when Two chuckles, he counts that as a small victory.

With Two, there’s either small victories or all out failure. One is still getting the hang of it.

The women touches One's shoulder, getting his attention. "You should think about getting something for your partner, I bet they'd like that."

"We're not together," Two affirms quickly, handing over payment for the bracelet as she slips it into her jacket pocket.

"I didn't mean you dear," the seller says, "I meant tall dark and handsome over there," her finger points over One's shoulder, directly to a contemplative Three, staring at a menu with his hands in his back pockets.

"Oh," but then One's brain catches up, kicks him in the chest as he takes a step back. " _What?_ Oh wha- no we're not-"

The lady flaps a dismissive hand, cutting off One's spluttering protests. "I know, he doesn't look the type to enjoy jewelry as a gift, but trust me when I say _everyone_ likes a genuine gesture," motioning to some simple necklaces, and then to similar rings, she continues, ignoring One's shocked face, "besides, it might just smooth over that argument that I definitely Did Not see you two have." She ends with a wink.

A beat of silence, as the woman smiles at him, and then with a jerk of his hand, One grabs a cheap, simple silver chain, hands over the payment, and doesn't reply at all. Because first, he can't seem to form the words to describe what the fuck is going on, and second, while he can't remember much about himself, he's sure he's not the type of person to say no to earnest old ladies.

Once they move on, the silver coiled in One's hand, thoughts still lost on him, Two finally breaks, just a snort and a hand covering her mouth, but still.

"Don't you dare."

"I didn't say a thing."

-

**(2)**

As they're walking, Three catches up with them, falling into step next to One without really thinking, (that doesn't make Two cough on a laugh, it doesn't). He has a take out bowl of food in one hand, as he shovels it into his mouth.

“Whatcha got there?" He asks, around a mouthful of food, poking the chain hanging out of One's fist with the handle of his utensil.

One is still trying to sort out thought processing, still trying to figure out what that lady must have seen so he can eliminate it as quickly as possible, so you can't blame him for just kind of blinking and blurting out, "apparently a gift for you.”

Which, of course, makes Three snatch it away from One, holding it up so it catches the light before letting out a vaguely positive hum, and stuffing it in his pocket. "I feel like I should ask why, but you know what, I'll do you a favor this one time, and not."

And that's it, One thinks, as Three shoulder checks him and walks away. Two is trying her best to not look amused, honest.

But then, well it can't be that simple, no, because ever since One woke up in that stasis pod, when has his life ever been simple?

Which is why weeks later he notices Three actually _wearing_ the chain. It's tucked into his shirt, but One catches the flash of silver around his neck when Three turns his head, and really One's not sure how he feels, but he knows it's not _terrible_.

The second time he sees Three wearing it, he walks into what the Android calls the briefing room. Three’s leaning back in a chair, a tablet sitting on the table in front of him, chain caught in his mouth.

“Nice necklace,” One says as a greeting, because he can’t help himself. “Where’d you get it?”

Because he never expected Three to _keep_ it. He was expecting Three it throw it away, whether once alone in his room or making a show out of tossing it into the airlock, along with a big speech as his fist came down on the button.

Three looks up at him, fingers fiddling with the chain, as he slides it back and forth along his bottom lip. “Some asshole gave it to me,” he answers casually, but there’s a smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

One sits in the chair next to Three, leaning closer to the tablet so he can read it, because he’s curious. Three doesn’t say anything, doesn’t snap about _minding your business_ , so One cautiously brings it closer. Three doesn’t stop him.

He quietly flips through the tabs, notes how they’re all pages on _Marcus Boone_ , research on his past. There’s news videos, articles, detailing crime and debauchery. His eyes skip over a page, the name _Sarah_ and a familiar face, before he’s swiping away

The screen cuts to black, as Three reaches over and harshly taps at the corner of the screen, silver glinting in his mouth, tongue curling and pressing against his teeth. “So, is there a reason you’re here, or are you stalking me now?”

The tablet slides away, and One has nothing to do with his eyes now, nothing to look at, nothing to catch his attention, so he’s left with staring at the way Three absently sucks on the chain.

“I uh, just came to grab something Two left, from the last meeting we had.” And really it should be illegal, the way Three’s treating that piece of jewelry, as his fingers drum a rhythm against the table.

“Over there, not hard to miss.” Three tilts his head, drawing One’s attention away (finally), towards one of the few paper files they’ve ever received.

There’s a pause, before One remembers he should probably be moving, getting up and grabbing the file Two asked of him. So he does. Three’s sitting exactly where One left him, when he looks back, chain finally (finally) out of his mouth, on his chest.

“He has shit taste, by the way.” One stops in the doorway, folder tucked under his arm.

“Who?” The corner of the tablet taps against Three’s knee.

“The asshole who gave you the necklace.”  
  
Three’s mouth widens to a chesire grin. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

-

** (3) **

 

Two doesn't even question it when One runs off, to the shopping center of the space station they docked at, just let's him go, tells Three as she's walking away with Six that he should make sure One doesn't get into too much trouble.

After much grumbling, and stalling, because Two never told him _when_ to check on One, Three finds him, waiting at the counter of a jewelry shop. His leg is bouncing, his fingers tapping against the faux marble as he watches someone in back work with a laser machine.

"Getting into trouble?" Three asks, their shoulders bumping together, as One takes whatever he just paid for, runs a finger over it and shoves it into his jacket pocket.

"Not at all," he pats Three on the shoulder as he walks past, and Three follows him without thinking.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m here now to make sure you don’t get into anymore trouble.”

One snorts, gives Three a disbelieving look. “Actually, I think that means I’m going to get into _more_ trouble.”

“You know me too well.”

Later, after One and Three find themselves in some trouble, because-  
  
“I can’t believe you walked right into the middle of a weapons deal!”

“It didn’t look like they were doing anything illegal!” One ducks as Three draws his gun, the sound of bodies hitting the floor is the bass line to gunshots.

“What the hell did you think the briefcases were for?”   
  
“A business deal?”  
  
Three’s face clearly says ‘you’re a damn idiot.’  
  
“Not everything has to be terrible, you know, people can do business deals in a back hallway.”  
  
“Not in our life, pretty boy.”

When they file back onto the Raza, a disappointed Two escorting One to the infirmary, (Three doesn’t think much of it when One insists on taking the long way around, as Three ignores them and makes a quick stop in the mess hall)   
  
Three can't help but laugh when he finds the engraved dog tag laying on his nightstand.

He wears it outside of his shirt more often, showing it off to people whenever he gets the chance, whenever strangers inquire about it. Runs his fingers over the grooves of the words late at night, and smiles.

_Trouble always comes in threes_

One likes to think he can be pretty clever.

-

-

-

**(1)**

 

After a long day, and really anything but is a rarity around these parts, One’s sigh of relief syncs up with the sigh of his door sliding closed.

He pulls his jacket off, throws it onto the couch, his boots following soon after where they’re stuffed away under his bed. One really just wants to lay face down on his bed and not move for a reasonable 50 hours or so. Either he sleeps the entire time or the fabric of his pillow finally suffocates him, both options seem quality about now.

So that’s what he does, scrubs a hand through his hair as he falls face first onto his bed, his relief getting cut off rather quickly by something digging into his ankle.

One lays there, honestly contemplating if he wants to move or not. He could ignore it, pretend it’s not there, let sleep or suffocation sweep him away, deal with it whenever he woke up.

Except, it was really pressing into his ankle, into the soft space below the bone, the material of his sock not deterring the pain at all. He can’t sleep like this, it’s impossible.

He pushes himself up and twists around, ready to berate himself for leaving something on the bed- a _gun_ no less, how careless can he be!

When a flash of gold catches his eye.

That stops him short, hand hovering above the weapon.

As far as One knows, he doesn’t own a handgun with gold filigree plating along the handle, a stark contrast to the sleek black of the barrel.

One picks it up, gingerly, turning it over in his hands, blinking as he takes it all in. Something catches his eye, and he takes a closer look at the handle. Engraved in the gold, in script the perfect size to not be an eyesore but still noticeable, five words that One goes between frowning at and smiling.

_You’re one of a kind_

Three knows he can be plenty clever.

 


End file.
